


Tender & soft

by AlexZorlok



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22280809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexZorlok/pseuds/AlexZorlok
Summary: Davy wants a dog.
Relationships: David Prentiss & Davy Prentiss Jr, Davy Prentiss Jr & Manchee
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Tender & soft

There’s a puppy by the Mayor's house.

It’s wagging its little tail at Davy even tho it’s so small and it ain’t got no Noise, ain’t got enough strength in it yet to even bark its meaningless dog barks, and so wagging back and forth is prolly the only thing it can actually do. It struggles to get onto its four feet, legs short and fluffy and chubby, and it flops downwards hitting its chin onto the ground, but then it tries to get back up again, and its tail is up and full of more energy than this little body can possibly contain.

Davy stares down at the puppy and fights the urge to spit down at it. The thought is circling in his head, his tongue restless behind his teeth to hide the fact that the dog hasn’t evoked a slightest bit of disgust in him— quite the opposite, actually, but there’s no way in his head for the peace or  _ love  _ or whatever, so he clenches his teeth instead of smiling and just stomps his foot loudly onto the ground, causing the puppy to jump at another attempt to stand up, and it rolls back a couple of times and stays there to sleep.

Davy keeps standing at the bottom of the porch. It’s ridiculous; the puppy’s eyes are opened for barely two days now, and its ma is to die any upcoming day, seeing as it barely even eat or drink anymore, and its eyes are mostly closed shut. It belonged to Mr Michael, the old carpenter who ‘disappeared’ some months ago, and then it prolly wandered around the swamp, somehow lucky enough not to get eaten by crocs, until Mr Phelps found it behind his store three weeks ago and brought it to Davy’s pa along with a newborn puppy because that’s the kind of business the mayor is trusted to find a solution for.

Now its ma is about to die, and the puppy can barely take care of itself, and even if it does survive for a coupla more weeks, if no one takes it in it’s gonna be drowned in the swamp or kicked out for the crocs to eat, because the mayor’s house has no use out of a mongrel that is twice smaller than a good healthy hunting dog like the one Mr Hammar used to have.

Davy wanted to take it. He saw the puppy on the porch the first day and thought he would train it and teach it to talk, and the dog would be his partner now that he’s a sheriff, because Davy has been a man for a year now, and he’s gotten his present in due time, such being the title of a man, and the honour, and Mr Gault to torture as the weaking he is, and what Davy had been hoping for was to maybe get his own horse on his big birthday, but it don’t matter, don’t matter at all.

So Davy saw the puppy, and maybe his Noise was buzzing too loudly with the thoughts of keeping him, but he never told his pa about it, never dared to bring it up, and when his pa saw the puppy as well, he shared a look with him and shook his head with amusement.

“Dog are such soft creatures, David.” he said, and that was it, and then he came down to have a talk with Mr Phelps, and Davy was left there standing and trying to silent his Noise the way he’s been taught too, until his pa could catch in his thoughts on whatever his own plans for the dog were going to be.

The puppy rolls around again on the shabby old blanket they laid out on the porch, and it yawns with its toothless mouth, and Davy gets another look at its newly opened eyes, still misty and colored deep blue, almost the same blue Davy’s own eyes are, and its fur, despite being dusty and tangled, almost resembles Davy’s own hair. Davy clenches his fists instead of leaning down to scratch the little thing between its ears, and he turns away and walks inside the house.

In a coupla more days the puppy’s gonna die or get sold to one of the farmers or get thrown into the swamp and die anyway. Whatever.

He don’t care.

* * *

There’s a dog rushing past him, taking a coupla circles around his feet, and it stops just in time before Davy actually attempts to kick it out of the way, and it sits down some steps away and wags its big fluffy tail at him.

It has a collar hanging around its neck, but it’s hanging too loose, because the dog is still too small, maybe a coupla months old, but it doesn’t seem to bother it, and it just sits there with its tongue out, and breathing heavily. Davy stares down at it long enough to find satisfaction in the fact that whoever the dog’s owner is, he will get a fine punishment from the sheriff tonight for letting his dog run around with no supervailance, disturbing the streets and  _ attacking  _ people.

He’s deep enough in his own head not to notice the annoying buzzing Noise coming closer and closer, and it takes some words said out loud for him to snap out of it and lift his head and feel like he’s the one being kicked in the guts instead of the dog he shoulda sent flying at the first opportunity.

“Manchee!”

Because there’s Todd Hewitt, the youngest boy in town, rushing on his heels and taking the dog by the collar and shaking it like he’s the king of the world and can do whatever he damn wants, only that the world is in this stupid dog, and it's got ruffled fur that is a little muddy from the puddles it musta jumped into on the way, but its color is still similar enough to Davy’s hair, and its eyes aren’t blue anymore, but they’re soft, and warm, and looking at Todd like he’s effing angel or whatnot.

“Todd!” it barks, and its tail is wagging so fast it shoulda fly off from his effort, “Todd!”

Todd stares at him, his expression blank, his Noise trying desperately to only leave annoyance on the surface, but it’s not enough, and he’s an opened book, because there’s pride and tenderness at the fact that apparently his bloody dog can now talk and of course its first word would be something as sugary-sweet as a bright barking ‘Todd’.

“Come on, boy, I’m taking you home.”

He stands up, and Davy is still staring down at both of them, and Todd frowns at his intense stare. “What?”

Davy doesn’t say anything. He just stares down more, then spits onto the ground, and his Noise is rioting with hatred, but it’s something Todd is used to in Prentisstown, so he doesn’t even question it, just sends Davy some nasty pictures in his own Noise and leaves, tugging his dog along.

Davy stands there for another moment, watching their backs, watching the long fluffy tail stretching to the sky. He kicks some rocks under his feet flying and turns towards his own home.

Todd stupid Hewitt.


End file.
